


'Make me'

by kyuubi_wench



Series: My Merlin Fics [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyuubi_wench/pseuds/kyuubi_wench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gratuitous porn. Pretty much it. </p><p>Written for Blackwidina because I owed her some smut. She asked for neck- scruffing and Merlin on his knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Make me'

“I did not say you were clumsy.” Merlin nudges Arthur's plate slightly back, away from the edge of the table. It's empty, nearly, but he's not quite ready to take it to the kitchen. He rather enjoys these mild arguments. 

“You said I must have tripped. In an empty hall. There wasn't anything to have tripped on!” Arthur gestures widely, prompting Merlin's smirk. He tries to hide it (and knows he fails). “You're always making fun of me!”

“Not always, Sire.” Merlin responds. He smiling and can't fucking help it. “I didn't make fun of you last night when the Duchess stepped on your feet.” 

“That's it! She bruised my feet. No wonder I couldn't-” Arthur stops his words and turns to scowl at Merlin. “You have no respect for me.” 

Merlin turns just enough to only give Arthur his profile, instead of looking him head-on. “Of course I do, Sire.” He gives it just a moment, but not long enough for Arthur to say anything else. “If I had no respect at all, your boots would still be muddy and your bath water would never be warm.” 

“Shut up,” Arthur snarls. There's a tone to it that makes Merlin glance up, just enough to catch the prince's face in the corner of his eye. Well, it's definitely not an _unwanted_ look. Shivers stomp down his spine. 

“I don't think you can _make_ me, Sire.” 

Arthur's eyes flash in that way he gets when he's been ruffled a little too far, and he _moves_ across the room in that speed he usually only uses in a fight. “I can make you shut up,” he half- threatens, voice low, as soon as he's close enough. Almost close enough to reach out and touch, be touched. 

It is the closest thing to a last- stand permission between them. Merlin yanks the chair beside him out with a foot hooked around one wooden leg, sprawls into it a moment later. It's the best kind of baiting. “Try me,” Merlin answers, an echo of Arthur's cocky smirk dancing on his lips. 

Arthur moves again, and if it had been anyone else, maybe they couldn't have tracked his movements properly. Merlin, though, gets the pleasure of having time slow down _just enough_ , watching and appreciating as Arthur's shoulders flex and his jaw clenches. It gives him just enough reaction time that Arthur's hand, when it clamps down on his neck, grabs skin and not too much hair, and Merlin drops his weight so when Arthur drags him from the chair and onto his knees on the floor, he doesn't stumble. 

Instead he lands on his knees between Arthur's as the prince sits down in the chair he'd just been in. There's no more room for a smirk, and he's panting a bit from the manhandling. Seriously, this shouldn't _work_ for them but it _does_. 

It doesn't help that Arthur is sitting just _barely_ on the chair, hips close to the edge, laces nearly in Merlin's face. Arthur's fingers pinch along his nape, his free hand tugging his laces open. Merlin leans back just enough to _feel_ Arthur's hand holding him, eyes lifting to catch the smug smile he's so damn familiar with. 

And then Arthur's pants are being shoved down, out of the way just far enough, and Arthur's fingers tug. Not sharp, not enough to hurt, but a force that refused resistance. And Merlin goes. Of course he goes. 

Arthur's just starting to fill out, his cock twitching slightly as blood fills it, otherwise still half- limp against his thigh. Merlin settles his hands on his own knees and _licks_ , quick flicks of his tongue that he knows just stirs Arthur up. 

It makes Arthur groan, at any rate, a deep one that sounds just as frustrated as it is aroused. Perfect. Really. It means that in about three... two... one...

Arthur's fingers _bite_ into his neck and Merlin makes a soft sound as he takes in the hardening flesh, lips tight and tongue flat and just the absolute barest hint of teeth. Arthur gurgles this time, hips grinding forward. The blood is pulsing against Merlin's tongue, and Arthur's no longer only half- hard. Merlin hums, just for the sheer reaction. 

Arthur _swears_. He's getting too predictable, really. Like if Merlin does _this_ with his tongue, he gets a more firm grip. And when he scrapes – just a little, right there near the base – Arthur makes a noise far less suited to come from a human mouth. And if he reaches up about now, and grips both of Arthur's knees, and leans forward...

Predictable, really. The surprise is which set of curses Arthur comes up with. He's quite creative when Merlin has his mouth full, and more than once Merlin's been glad Arthur doesn't wield magic. He's pretty sure Camelot would have torn itself apart already from the things Arthur's come up with. 

And when Merlin wedges the spongy head against his throat and _swallows_ , tight and wet, those curses tend to fizzle out to incoherent sounds of pleasure. It doesn't take much longer before Arthur's coming, fingers tight and nearly painful on Merlin's neck. He'll have to wear his neckerchief when they're done. 

Arthur falls limp after a moment, and Merlin manages to pull away. He'd swallowed, for the sheer sake of not having to ruin any clothes at midday, but looks at Arthur pointedly when he takes his goblet. The wine rinses the rest of the taste from his mouth, and all Arthur can summon the energy to do is gesture rudely. 

“Is that all?” His voice is not scratchy, not at all, damn that conceited smirk that says otherwise. 

“Don't forget the bath I'll be wanting at dinner.” 

Merlin glances at the half- closed eyes and shivers. “Yes, Sire.”


End file.
